Finding Home Page 4

  ‘Yes, although I might be glad of a hand with these two sometimes when Jonty’s away.’ Ros smiled at Mim. She was a few years older than Lia and Olly, and had dark hair to their blond mops, but her smile was wide and friendly – and oddly familiar. ‘Corin doesn’t have a cleaner, does he, but we all know Corin’s views on such matters.’

  The family’s laughter was interrupted by the sound of paws skittering across the wooden floor, swiftly followed by a posh male voice.

  ‘You know my views on what?’

  Mim turned to look at the new arrival. Tall, strong, dazzling smile … and apparently not a Champagne-stealing handyman, after all, but Corin, Bea’s son and heir.

  Chapter Four

  Mim couldn’t believe she’d been so daft. How likely was it that a member of staff had stolen a bottle of Champagne and got hammered in the middle of a shift? But hang on … when they’d met under the trees, hadn’t he been grumbling about his life? She tried to remember what he’d said. Something about an empty future and wishing he’d been born into a different life, wasn’t it? She sank down onto a chair next to Lia and watched all the fuss that was being made over Corin’s arrival. Bea was giving him a hug as if she hadn’t seen him for a year, never mind since yesterday, and everyone else was laughing and talking over each other with evident warmth and unity. It looked like a pretty good life to her. What could he possibly have to complain about?

  She looked away, trying not to make eye contact with him, and spotted a dog sitting at her feet. It was small and squat, with wiry hair that was mainly white but with the odd gingery patch on its body and around one eye. It was completely still, gazing up at her. She smiled at it – she’d never had a pet and didn’t know what else to do – and it jumped onto her knee, sniffed her trousers, circled a couple of times and curled up.

  Lia laughed.

  ‘Wow. How have you managed that? Dickens is far too aloof to give me the time of day.’

  ‘Dickens?’ Mim repeated.

  ‘Corin’s idea of a joke,’ Bea called over. ‘He doesn’t appreciate Shakespeare.’

  The man in question had wandered over to the sofas and was bending down to tickle one of the children – Maisie, Mim guessed from the floral dress, although they both had angelic blond curls that made it hard to tell them apart. He looked towards Mim and smiled. Did he recognise her? Mim couldn’t tell.

  ‘I’m glad to see you still have a glass,’ he said. That answered that question. ‘A worrying lack of shoes though.’

  Reluctantly, Mim smiled. She’d left her shoes in the hall, wary of leaving footprints through the house.

  ‘Good job I don’t have holes in my socks,’ she said. She looked pointedly at Corin’s feet. He wasn’t wearing shoes either and the heels of both his socks were almost threadbare. In fact, now she studied him properly, all of him looked shabby – at least in comparison to the rest of the family; his jeans were frayed at the bottom and his jumper sported a hole above the left elbow. Unless he’d paid a fortune for the distressed look, his clothes must be even older than hers.

  He laughed but had no chance to reply as Bea called them to the table for lunch. Mim let the conversation drift on around her as she tucked into thick slices of roast lamb, roast and mashed potatoes, and heaps of fresh vegetables. Vegetables! After two weeks of living off sandwiches, nothing had ever tasted so good. She was so absorbed in her food that she barely noticed that the conversation had turned to her again.

  ‘And she’s insisting on a barter system until she has enough money to pay rent,’ Bea was explaining to Corin. ‘Quite unnecessary, of course, because it’s not as if we’re doing anything else with those caravans.’

  ‘Quite understandable, too,’ Corin said. He put down his knife and fork. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to pay your way, rather than having everything handed to you.’

  ‘So you won’t mind if Mim comes to clean your house?’ Bea persisted. ‘We can’t upset Mrs Dennis and her team by letting her help here and Ros has Anya.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own house. How is she supposed to find a job and earn money if she’s always doing favours for us?’ Corin leaned forward and peered down the table at Mim. ‘Sorry to talk about you as if you’re not here. What sort of work are you looking for? What qualifications do you have?’

  ‘I have an A level in maths.’ It sounded a bit pathetic on its own but Mim was proud of it. It had been an achievement against the odds. ‘My experience is in working in a hotel but I’ll do anything. I don’t mind cleaning, or shop work, or bar work. I can’t afford to be choosy. As long as it pays, I’ll do it.’

  She felt a number of curious gazes land on her as she said that. How could they understand, sitting around a table piled with wasted food and bottles of wine, what it was like to have nothing? She saw a flash of sympathy on Corin’s face and quickly looked down at her plate. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

  ‘I’ve nothing vacant at the moment but Janet’s your answer if that’s the sort of work you want,’ Bill said, setting down his glass with a decisive thump. ‘She owns the shop and the pub in the village, and has a couple of holiday cottages. It’s quite the business empire. She might have something for you.’

  ‘Oh Daddy, you can’t send Mim to work for Janet,’ Lia replied, pulling a face.

  ‘Does she have a vacancy?’ Mim asked. It sounded perfect, if she ignored Lia’s ongoing grimaces and whatever they meant.

  ‘She always has vacancies.’ Corin smiled. ‘This is one occasion where you might decide to be choosy.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Bill said. ‘Janet’s a character but harmless enough.’

  It wasn’t a gushing recommendation but was good enough for Mim.

  ‘Will she be open tomorrow?’ Mim asked. ‘Could you show me the way?’

  ‘Go with Corin,’ Ros suggested. ‘She once let him off a penny when he didn’t have enough money for sweets. It’s her only recorded act of kindness. He might be your lucky charm.’

  ‘But we were going out for petrol anyway,’ Mim said, appealing to Bill.

  ‘Oh, Corin can deal with all that. You don’t want an old dog like me when he’s around. Besides, if all goes well with Janet, you may not need that petrol, eh?’

  This time Mim was ready when the knock came on the caravan door the next morning; she wasn’t going to let another member of the Howard family catch her in her pyjamas. She opened the door and Dickens trotted in while Corin leant on the veranda balustrade with his back to her, looking out over the field of caravans. A fine drizzle hung in the air and was making the ends of his hair curl out at the nape of his neck but at least he was properly dressed today in boots and a thick coat that looked like an old favourite but didn’t have any obvious holes. He certainly didn’t share the sartorial elegance of his family from what Mim had seen so far. He turned and smiled.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Come on, Dickens. Time to go.’

  The dog obediently scampered out of the caravan and ran at Corin’s heels as they followed the track towards the garage where Mim’s car was parked.

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ Mim said, matching his pace as he strode along. ‘I can manage if you tell me how to find the petrol station and Janet’s shop.’

  ‘That’s no good. I have instructions to pay for your petrol.’

  ‘I can pay myself now, with the money I earned at the wedding.’ It was one thing taking the money from Bill – she’d driven him down from Lancashire, after all. She felt more uncomfortable about Corin paying, however short of money she was. That felt more like charity and she wasn’t a charity case. She’d hit an unlucky patch but there were thousands worse off than she was. ‘You said it yourself. I’d prefer to pay my way, not rely on handouts.’

  ‘Don’t be so prickly. This isn’t a handout. Filling your car with petrol is simply putting you back in the position you were in before you met Mum and Dad.’ Corin picked up a stick and threw it for Dickens. ‘You shouldn’t be ou
t of pocket for doing them a favour.’

  ‘Prickly?’ Mim repeated. She was prepared to admit – grudgingly – that he had a point with everything else, but not about that. ‘It’s not prickly to have principles.’

  ‘Principles or pride? There’s no shame in accepting help when you need it.’

  As that was exactly what Mim would have said herself if their situations were reversed, she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply and they were soon on their way to the petrol station, which was in the nearby village of Littlemead. They followed the drive past Vennhallow and various outbuildings until they reached the main road, where the end of the estate was marked by a fine pair of stone pillars and a small lodge. Corin explained that these were all that remained of a much grander mansion that had occupied the estate before being destroyed in a fire and replaced by the current house.

  The narrow roads were much easier to navigate in daylight than they had been in the dark. After they’d stopped for petrol at an old-fashioned garage with an attendant who insisted on filling the car himself, the road wove downhill through what Mim guessed must be the centre of the village. Grey stone buildings lined the sides of the street, some with thatched roofs that Mim stared at in delight; she hadn’t realised such things still existed apart from on jigsaw puzzles and biscuit tins. Most of the buildings appeared to be residential, although Mim spotted a café, a butcher’s shop, an art gallery and a B&B. The village looked as if it hadn’t changed in years, and it was particularly pretty at the moment with the Christmas decorations still in place. Oak barrels that might have been washed up from a shipwreck were positioned at regular intervals along the pavement, each containing a Christmas tree strung with bright fairy lights. Coloured lights blazed from some of the windows too, and almost every door was adorned with a wreath of holly, ribbons, and baubles. It was an utterly charming place and Mim couldn’t stop smiling as she absorbed it all. Could she really have the chance to call this place home?

  The road came to an abrupt end at a turning area at the bottom of the hill where a weathered wooden sign pointed pedestrians left or right for the South West Coast Path or straight down a cobbled path to the beach. Corin directed Mim to a small car park on the left. There was a surprising number of cars already there, and walkers were setting off in anoraks and boots, many with eager dogs pulling on their leads. Corin took a lead out of his pocket and clipped it to Dickens’s collar.

  ‘Don’t get excited,’ he told the dog. ‘We’re not going on a walk yet.’ Dickens thumped his tail in reply.

  ‘You don’t need to come with me,’ Mim said, getting out of the car. ‘If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Let’s see how you get on with Janet first.’ Corin smiled and pointed at the end building on the opposite side of the road. It was a solid stone pub called The Boat Inn, three storeys high but fairly narrow, with only two windows on either side of the central entrance. In contrast to the rest of the buildings in the village, the pub looked dark and uninviting, except for the tinsel stars that hung in the ground-floor windows, swinging in the draught. ‘That’s Janet’s pub and the shop is next door.’

  The shop was attached to the pub and looked as if it had been converted from several cottages knocked into one. As they crossed the road and got nearer, Mim could see that the large feature-window was filled with an eclectic mix of goods including boxes of fudge and biscuits, plastic toys, teddy bears wearing ‘I heart Devon’ jumpers and a selection of local walking guides. The sign above the window read, ‘The Littlemead Deli’.

  ‘It’s gone upmarket since I was a boy,’ Corin said, gesturing at the sign and grinning. ‘Believe it or not. It was only a convenience store then. Are you ready?’

  He tied Dickens to a bracket on the wall and went into the shop, holding the door for Mim. It was bigger inside than she’d expected, stretching back across almost the whole ground floor of the cottages. The shop was divided into two distinct areas. On the far left, there was a section for tourists, with more guidebooks, postcards, armbands, buckets and spades, flip flops, and souvenirs. The centre and right-hand side housed the food, with tinned goods and cans of beer rubbing shoulders with wicker baskets of fruit and vegetables and shelves of bread and cakes. At the far right-hand end there was a counter doubling as a refrigerated display filled with a selection of cheeses, pies and pasties, and cooked meats.

  Apart from Mim and Corin, there were two other people in the shop: a woman behind the counter and a little boy filling a bag at the pick ‘n’ mix sweet display. As Mim watched, the boy took his bag and handed it to the woman, who inspected the contents carefully before announcing it would cost fifty pence. The boy stretched across the counter with his money, but the coin must have slipped out of his hand and there was a clunk as it hit the glass surface of the counter before rolling to the floor.

  The boy dropped to his knees and after a few seconds of fruitless searching, Mim hurried forward to help, but there was no sign of his coin; it must have gone beneath the counter.

  ‘I don’t have any more money,’ the boy said.

  ‘No money, no sweets.’ The woman turned to put the bag of sweets on a shelf behind her. The boy looked at Mim with tear-filled eyes.

  ‘Hang on,’ Mim said. She pulled her purse out of her bag, counted out fifty pence in change and carefully placed the coins on top of the counter. ‘There’s your money. Now can we have the sweets?’

  The woman handed over the bag and as soon as it was safely in the boy’s hands, he ran out of the shop, throwing a thank you over his shoulder.

  ‘You’re a soft touch,’ the woman said. She was around sixty, short and stocky with long steel-grey hair, and she was wearing the most extraordinary navy fleece with rabbits all over it. ‘I dare say he tries that on regularly. Mark me, his coin will be safely in his pocket.’

  ‘Well if that’s true, you both benefit, as my coins are now safely in your till. Are you Janet?’ Mim asked.

  ‘Miss Thaw to strangers. What do you want with me?’

  ‘I’m looking for work,’ Mim said. She was beginning to understand why Lia had grimaced so much. If Corin thought Mim was prickly, what did he make of Janet? ‘I heard you might have a vacancy here.’

  ‘Did you indeed? And who’s been telling you that? I haven’t advertised a position.’

  ‘I told her.’ Corin stepped forward from the doorway and the transformation in Janet was instant. Her suspicious frown was replaced with a beaming smile and she tucked her hair back behind her ears. ‘You’re running a successful business empire, Janet. You must be in need of some help. You need to be careful not to wear yourself out.’

  ‘Too true,’ Janet agreed. ‘Success like this takes hard work and no slacking. Not many could have done it on their own. When I read about today’s snowflake generation, I despair.’ She looked Mim up and down. ‘What sort of work are you after? Shop or bar?’

  ‘Either. Or both,’ Mim said. ‘I’ll take whatever you’re offering.’

  ‘I haven’t decided if I’m offering anything yet.’ Janet heaved herself onto a stool behind the counter, revealing a pair of green corduroy trousers and white Crocs. ‘Are you from the north?’

  ‘I am. Well spotted.’ Mim smiled. ‘I expect some of your customers are too, if they come down here on holiday. They might be glad to meet someone who speaks their language.’

  Janet ignored this.

  ‘What experience do you have?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve spent the last ten years managing a small hotel.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie – she had acted as manager even though she’d never officially been given the title. Mim decided that Janet didn’t need to know all the ins and outs. ‘I dealt with customers every day and ran a small bar at night. I have up-to-date food safety and hygiene certificates.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, but I’m more interested in whether you’re a hard worker. Do you have any references?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Janet shook her head, bu
t Mim wasn’t going to be defeated yet. ‘I can’t get one. My last employer died; that’s why I’m looking for work.’

  Not for the first time, Mim regretted her honesty – stupidity, more like. On that final day of packing up the hotel, she’d wondered whether she should write her own reference, while she still had access to the letter-headed paper, but she’d shied away from the deception. More fool her. But before she could explain further, Corin stepped forward and gave Janet a lazy grin.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Janet. My family will vouch for Mim. She’s honest and will pull her weight.’

  Janet smiled back and nodded. Mim stared. Was it that easy? What must it be like to sail through life with the right name and the right accent, having doors automatically open for you? A streak of stubbornness kicked in. If she was going to get this job, she wanted to earn it on her own merits, even if it meant the door would slam in her face.

  ‘Why don’t we do a test?’ Mim suggested. ‘Corin can pretend to be a customer and I’ll see if I can manage to serve him. If I pass, then you’ll give me a trial run at the job.’

  Janet agreed and Corin pottered round the shop, bringing back a basket containing six or seven items.

  ‘The till can be temperamental,’ Janet said, before Mim had taken the first item from the basket. ‘Let’s pretend it’s not working today. How will you manage now?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to add it up in my head.’ Mim took the items out of the basket and checked the prices. The extortionate cost of some of the goods almost distracted her from the task, but after checking the last packet of fudge she looked back at Corin. ‘That will be £16.74 please.’

  Janet slithered off her stool, took a calculator out of the drawer and added up the items.

  ‘£16.74,’ she repeated, with a grudging nod. She looked Mim up and down. ‘You’ll do. Thursday through Sunday, eight til six. Start this week on a two week trial. Take it or leave it.’